


Something Beyond Brilliant

by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm)



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Hair, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 10:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadaHolm/pseuds/88thParallel
Summary: A bad date leaves Martin ready for a change, until Arthur finds out and makes him reconsider.





	Something Beyond Brilliant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Myx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myx/gifts).



> For Myx, my fandot big sis <3

Arthur Shappey was having a good day. Truth be told, most days for Arthur were good days, but cargo flight days were extra special. No passengers to worry about, barely any clean up, and once they were at cruising altitude he could stand in the flight deck doorway and play word games with Douglas and Martin. Mum only had two rooms booked tonight, so they’d drawn straws for who got the single. Technically Douglas “won,” but Arthur would rather room with Skip anyway, so in his opinion, the outcome was brilliant.

He punched 60 seconds in on the microwave and watched the paper plates rotate through the window. He was pretty sure his newest creation,  _ micreese, _ would be a hit with the pilots. All the deliciousness of grilled cheese without the actual grilling or unhealthy butter - what wasn’t to love?

“And that’s another win for me,” Arthur heard Douglas declare smugly through the propped open flight deck door. “Really, Martin, that’s the fourth game I’ve beaten you at today. It’s like you’re not even trying.”

“I’m  _ not _ trying,” Martin mumbled, then sighed. “I’m sorry Douglas, I’m just not in the mood.”

Arthur frowned. Indeed, Martin did not seem to be having a good day. He’d been quiet all morning, lost in his thoughts, his expression tired — and if Arthur was right — a little sad. 

Douglas had noticed too. An hour earlier, he went for a more direct approach, asking Martin if he was alright. That had earned him a forced smile and an apology, followed by an attempt at changing the subject. Douglas and Arthur had exchanged worried looks and shrugs behind Martin’s back while he stared off into the middle distance, forlorn. 

Something was definitely wrong.

The microwave beeped and Arthur retrieved the plates, dumping a small pile of crisps and a wrinkly pickle on each before returning to the flightdeck. 

“Lunch, Gents!” he announced cheerfully, handing the dishes to Martin and Douglas.

Douglas raised his eyebrows and picked up the sandwich, which wilted a bit more than grilled cheese probably should. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“I call it micreese! A cheese sandwich, microwaved!”

“Well I guess you can’t mess up cheese and bread all that much,” Douglas said, shaking his head, and took a bite. He chewed slowly, grimaced, and swallowed. “I take it back. Arthur, I do believe you’ve discovered a new texture somewhere between sticky and gummy. I didn’t know you could  _ do that _ to bread after it had been baked. It defies science.”

“See, that’s the great thing about micreese! It’s a whole new taste sensation. I’ve been reading up on the importance of  _ mouthfeel _ in cooking.”

“Keep reading,” Douglas muttered, putting the sandwich down and picking at the crisps instead.

“What about you Skip?” Arthur asked. 

“What?”

“The micreese, what did you think?”

Martin distractedly handed Arthur his empty plate. “Yeah. It was fine. Good. Thanks.”

Arthur knew he should smile at the compliment, but part of him wanted to frown instead. Martin must have been hungry. Maybe that’s why he was so down. Arthur knew he ran into money troubles sometimes, and wondered if Martin had been forced to choose between eating and paying the rent recently.

Arthur didn’t want Martin to feel embarrassed in front of Douglas, so he decided he’d bring it up tonight, when they retired to their shared hotel room. 

Quiet fell over the flightdeck, broken only by the sound of Douglas eating crisps. 

“How about a game?” Arthur offered.

“Martin doesn’t feel much like playing, but I’m in,” Douglas replied. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about Paper Scissors Rock?”

“That depends,” Douglas said, quirking an eyebrow. “Are we playing with the real rules or  _ your _ rules?”

“My rules make sense!” Arthur said defensively.

Douglas rolled his eyes. “Arthur, everyone knows paper beats rock, rock beats scissors, and scissors beat paper. Even the smallest of children can grasp the concept. Your rules are confusing.”

“It’s only because you’ve been trained to think the old way makes sense. If you put a piece of paper on top of a rock, the smallest gust of wind and it would blow away. What harm could a flimsy piece of paper do to a stone that’s been around since the dinosaurs? It makes much more sense for the rock to act as a paperweight.”

“Not if the paper wraps itself  _ around _ the rock. Paper is incredibly versatile, Arthur. It could be wrapping paper, or really heavy cardstock. It could cover it up like a blanket.”

“Bu how does the rock beat the scissors? Most rocks are round or all lumpy shaped. If you put it on a pair of stiff metal scissors would be all wobbly and roll off. The scissors should sit atop the rock, like a table.”

Douglas folded his arms and raised his chin in challenge. “I could smash the scissors with the rock, then rock would definitely win.” He threw his hands up when he saw Arthur’s horrified expression at the suggestion of violence. “Even if all that were true … then who does paper beat? Paper has to beat  _ someone, _ or it’s not fair.”

“I guess that’s true,” Arthur agreed. “We shouldn’t have paper if it only gets to lose.”

“Some things are just destined to be losers,” Martin mumbled morosely.

Awkward silence hung over them, heavy and sad.

Arthur frowned. “Alright, Douglas. We’ll play with the normal rules.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you have a preference?” Martin asked, gesturing to the hotel room’s two beds.

“Captain’s choice,” Arthur replied as switched on the closest lamp.

Martin nodded and dropped his overnight bag on the bed closest to the windows. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it in the room’s small closet, then grabbed his pyjamas and disappeared into the loo. 

Arthur started to unpack his own bag — not many things for a quick overnight trip like this, but his clothes just seemed more comfortable when they’d had time to rest in a drawer or hang in a wardrobe instead of staying folded in his well-worn duffel bag. 

Martin emerged from the bathroom in well-worn plaid sleep pants and a loose white vest. He hung the rest of his uniform with his jacket, then started to rummage in his bag again. Arthur looked up from untangling his mobile’s  charging cable when he saw Martin stop out of the corner of his eye.

He stood with his back to Arthur, looking down into his bag as if contemplating something inside. After a moment he shifted, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his face wearily.

Arthur wanted to cross the room and give the man a hug. It was obvious he needed one. Instead, he settled for placing a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder, which slumped a little at the touch.

“What’s wrong, Skip?” Arthur asked gently. “You haven’t been yourself all day. What’s going on?”

Martin sighed, and looked back at Arthur over his shoulder with a sad smile. “Arthur … could you —  _ would _ you help me with something?”

“Of course. Anything.”

Martin reached in his bag and turned toward Arthur, head bowed self-consciously. “It’s probably not how you imagined spending your evening but … I don’t think I can do this by myself. I know with my luck I’ll miss a spot in the back and it’ll look ridiculous.” 

Martin handed Arthur a small box depicting a smiling man with brown hair and a roguish smile. Embossed in silver letters across the front:  _ JUST FOR MEN HAIR COLOR - MEDIUM BROWN. _

To say Arthur was surprised was an understatement. “Skip … you want to dye your hair? Why?”

Martin swallowed and looked up at Arthur, trying (and failing) to project confidence. “I just … I felt like I could use a change is all. I thought … it might look better than this ginger mess.” He ran his hand through his hair contemptuously.

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Whatever would have given you  _ that _ idea?”

Martin’s shoulders fell. “Not what. Who.”

“Did Douglas say something to you?” Arthur felt a flare of anger. He knew Douglas liked to tease Martin, but aside from his height, he’d left Martin’s appearance alone as far as Arthur knew. It was too low a blow, even for Douglas.

“No, no, it … it wasn’t Douglas. It was …” Martin sat down on the bed, defeated. “I’ve been talking to someone. For a few weeks now. Online, I mean. We met on Tindr.” He huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “We were getting on so well, and I thought … well it was stupid to get my hopes up, I know, but I thought maybe there might be something there. We finally had a chance to meet in person last night. A real date.”

“What happened? What did she say?”

Martin seemed to pale, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He lifted his eyes to meet Arthur’s for a moment before dropping them and taking a deep breath. “He,” Martin corrected, wincing.

“Oh,” Arthur replied, genuinely surprised. “Ooooh. Right.”

Martin hung his head in shame, and Arthur rushed to correct the misunderstanding. “No, no, no — Skip, that’s fine. I just didn’t  _ know _ is all. It’s totally fine!” 

Martin’s looked up, grimacing, an expression between disbelief and relief. “Really?”

Arthur grinned broadly. “Of course!” 

Arthur had found Martin attractive from the moment he’d first met him, and as they grew to know each other, that initial attraction had turned into a full-blown crush. He was constantly reminding himself there was no chance of reciprocation from his Captain, and he should be happy with the vibrant friendship they had, but now … well, maybe there was a chance. 

Still, Arthur decided, best not to get his hopes up. Afterall, Martin was about to tell him about a night out he’d just had with someone else.

He glanced down at the box in his hand again. “So … what happened, then? On your date?” 

Martin sighed and scratched his neck self-consciously. “Well … I could tell something was off right away. He kept getting distracted, looking at me and looking away like he was conflicted, and I couldn’t keep the conversation going because I was getting nervous. He asked for the bill after our appetizer. Told me he liked me a lot, but he said my profile picture made my hair look brown. He thought I was attractive, but the red had to go.” He straightened up and deepened his voice in imitation:  _ “Gingers just don’t do it for me, _ he said. At least he paid for the mozzarella sticks.”

Arthur realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it. What kind of horrible person would reject someone as incredible as Martin Crieff, and for such a shoddy reason? Didn’t they know how lucky they were to have caught his attention to begin with? Not to mention the fact that Martin’s red hair was perfect — one of Arthur’s favorite features, in fact.

“Anyone who would treat you like that doesn’t deserve a second chance. That tosser isn’t even worth whatever you paid for this,” Arthur said, holding up the hair dye. 

Martin’s eyes widened in delighted disbelief. “Did you just call someone _a_ _tosser?”_ he chuckled.

“I’ll do it again if you’d like,” Arthur replied unapologetically. Truth be told, there were a lot more words he could have used (wanker, arsehole, and dickhead came to mind), but Arthur held his tongue. 

Martin shook his head. “I mean … I’m not dying my hair _for_ _him._ I could never face him again after last night anyway. I just … I know he’s right. I have so little going for me already, and my hair certainly isn’t helping things. I thought I had a chance because he took the time and got to know me, and wasn’t scared off by my personality.”

“Scared off by your …” Arthur felt his heart drop as he absorbed Martin’s train of thought. He sat on the bed across from Martin, and leaned down to catch his eye. “Skip … you’re kind, and smart, and funny. Why would anyone be scared off by your  _ personality?” _

“I get nervous over silly things, and I end up putting my foot in my mouth. I don’t have enough money to go on nice dates, so I can’t even wine and dine someone properly. All I do is fly and move furniture with my van, so I don’t have much else to talk about. I’m just not very interesting.”

“You’re the most interesting person I know.”

Martin raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips sceptically.

“No, I’m serious, Skip. You’re  _ brilliant. _ In fact, you’re something  _ beyond _ brilliant. It’s great that you know so much about flying — that’s one of my favorite things! And you’re always happy to teach me about aviation and GERTI, and you even taught me about how  _ birds _ fly! You take us all over the world, then you come home and you have your own business, too! It’s amazing.”

Martin’s cheeks flushed, and he smiled, looking down at his knotted hands.

“That’s … very nice of you to say. I very much like teaching you about flying. No one ever wants to listen to me talk about planes, anyway.”

“Well, no one else has much patience to teach me, so it looks like we’re a good match,” Arthur replied, grinning.

To Arthur’s relief, a big, genuine smile spread across Martin’s face and his eyes filled with warmth. “We certainly are.” He shook his head again. “But Arthur, even if I  _ was _ Mister Personality, that still doesn’t solve my awful hair problem.”

“But Martin, your hair … it’s  _ brilliant! _ Not many people have red hair. It’s special. That’s why I think it suits you.” 

“Really?”

“Absolutely. It’s your choice, but … I’d be a bit sad if you covered it up with  _ medium brown. _ ” Arthur looked down at the box of hair color with disdain. “It’s boring, and it’s not …  _ you. _ They couldn’t put your hair color in a bottle if they tried. It’s like … warm copper. The way the curly bits light up in the sun, it’s amazing. It reminds me of that time we flew over the Grand Canyon at sunset, or how the leaves in autumn make you feel all warm and cozy. _ ” _

Martin bit his lip, but looked unconvinced.

Arthur leaned down a little and caught Martin’s eyes again. “Maybe just take a few days to think about it? Next week when we fly to Latvia, if you still want to dye it, I’ll help you. But I don’t think you need to change. Anything. Your hair, your personality, your life. You’re perfect the way you are.” He handed the box back. 

“Wow, Arthur … I … I don’t know what to say. That means a lot to me. Thank you,” Martin said quietly, and after a moment, looked up again, brows furrowed. He stood and walked to the edge of the bed, tucking the hair dye back in his bag. He kept his head bowed as he spoke, avoiding eye contact, concerned. “So … you … you don’t mind then? That I’m … that I’m gay? I haven’t really told anyone else, I was worried …”

“Of course I don’t mind! In fact … I think it’s brilliant.” Arthur bit his lip shyly. “And, um … me too.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “What? Really?”

Arthur shrugged and smiled. “Well, I mean … girls or guys, either is fine with me.”

“Great! I mean … Yes. Well … good. That’s … that’s good.” The blush had crept from Martin’s cheeks to his ears now, but Arthur could see the tension melt off of him. It was adorable.

“So … you know how it is out there. In the dating world, I mean. For … for people like me.”

“Like us,” Arthur corrected. 

Martin ducked his head and nodded shyly. “Right. Like us. So … you really think I have a chance? You think someone will look at all this —” he waved his hand, gesturing to himself, “and  _ actually _ be interested?”

The words tumbled out before Arthur could think. “I am.” 

Martin’s head snapped up. “What?” 

Arthur’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t meant to admit that, it sort of just … tumbled out. 

“I mean — I mean  _ yes, _ I do _. _ I do think someone would be interested. Loads of people, I’m sure,” he stammered.

“Oh,” Martin chuckled shakily. “For a moment there, I thought you meant that  _ you _ …”

_ I did _ , Arthur wanted to say, realizing his heart was suddenly beating outrageously fast. He managed a weak laugh and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. Of course Martin would think it was laughable. Someone as incredible as the Skipper was obviously well out of Arthur’s league.  

Martin laughed self-consciously. “I mean … not that I would ever be that lucky … for someone like  _ you _ to be interested in someone like  _ me _ …”    


Now it was Arthur’s turn to gape. Martin looked up sheepishly, cracking the smallest of self deprecating smiles. He replayed the words in his mind rapidly, certain he’d misunderstood. Surely Martin hadn’t just implied … 

Before he could stop himself, Arthur was on his feet. 

The smile dropped from Martin’s face, replaced by something much more open, almost … vulnerable. The air between them filled with magnetic tension, a buzzing heat that held for the longest beat, before Arthur stepped closer, and slowly drew his hand up to cup Martin’s cheek. 

“I would be the lucky one,” he whispered, then tilted his head to meet Martin’s lips with his own, a kiss soft and delicate yet intoxicating. Martin inhaled sharply, and Arthur pulled back, panic flooding through him, but Martin was looking at him in awe, eyes sparkling as a grin spread over his face. After a moment, he leaned in to Arthur, stealing his own gentle, chaste kiss, before letting out the smallest huff of delighted laughter and relaxing into it.

Their lips and hands roamed, exploring tentatively, reverently. Arthur’s fingers threaded through Martin’s hair, cradling his head, as Martin’s hands came to rest at Arthurs hips, then slid up around his back. The world around them ceased to exist, except for fireworks that Arthur was sure must be going off around them now.

When they parted, Martin rested their foreheads together, biting his lip to stop from giggling. Arthur ran his thumb along Martin’s cheek, delighting in the dimples he found there.

“Guess being a redhead isn’t so bad afterall,” Martin murmured, blushing again.

Arthur pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead, and felt a delicious warmth bloom in his chest. He was pretty sure if the feeling had a color, it would be the same copper as the soft strands his fingers were tangled in now: beautiful, unique, and something beyond brilliant.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I don't have a hair kink, although I understand if that argument seems thin based on the fact that two of my five fics are hair-related...
> 
> I channeled a lot of myself into Arthur in this. Micreese is a strange and somewhat off-putting sandwich I made up as a kid, and still inexplicably eat when I'm uninspired or short on time. The bread really does get all gummy and odd, but... at least it's edible.
> 
> Also, Arthur's logic for Paper Scissors Rock is 100% mine. That game gives me anxiety because it makes no sense to me whatsoever. Paper beating rock? It defies all logic. Ridiculous.
> 
> ;)


End file.
